


Heart’s Desire

by Dawn (sunrize83)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 09:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16616399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrize83/pseuds/Dawn
Summary: Mulder tells Scully about the smoking man’s deal, including the meeting with his sister.





	Heart’s Desire

Trinity Hospital  
9:00 p.m.  
  


The heavy hand descending on his left shoulder brought Mulder  
back to consciousness with all the finesse of a bucket of ice water.  
He bolted upright, a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan  
escaping his lips and his hand fumbling for his weapon. 

"Easy, Mulder, it's just me." 

Skinner's deep voice held an undercurrent Mulder would have  
recognized as worry if his brain had not been fogged with  
exhaustion. Mulder used the palms of both hands to dry wash his  
face, hearing the rasp of stubble meeting flesh. He was suddenly  
aware of his disheveled appearance -- jacket discarded, tie knot  
loosened, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled above the elbow.  
Skinner, on the other hand, still looked as immaculately put  
together as he had that morning. 

*I must look like hell.* 

Mulder made a half-hearted attempt to tuck in his shirt, but the  
thought held no real conviction and he was too tired to really care.  
He felt his body trying to rebel as he dragged himself wearily to  
his feet and blinked owlishly at his boss. His eyes felt gritty with  
fatigue and gummy with old tears. Skinner studied him, brow  
contracted in a frown, then looked ready to speak again. Mulder  
raced to head him off, certain he could not hold up under an  
articulation of concern. 

"Did you talk to her?" 

*Brilliant, Mulder, how do you come up with these great  
conversation starters? No, Skinner went in and just LOOKED at  
her.* 

Skinner's tight expression underwent a miraculous transformation,  
softening so that for a moment Mulder barely recognized the man  
before him as his hard-nosed boss. 

"We managed to work out a few...difficulties that had arisen  
recently," he said dryly. "She's looking pretty tired, but she asked  
me to send you in if you were still here." 

Something flickered across Mulder's face, so quick and elusive that  
Skinner wondered if he'd imagined it. Not fear, and not shame,  
though it contained elements of both. And a wariness, which  
remained even now. 

"What's wrong?" 

Mulder shrugged, his features taking on the blank, emotionless cast  
with which Skinner was all too familiar. It was the look his agent  
got whenever something hit a little too hard, cut a little too deeply.  
Skinner could almost hear the clang as a door slammed shut, the  
click of a deadbolt sliding firmly into place. 

"Nothing. Are Scully's mom and brother still in there?" 

The question was innocuous -- so why did Skinner feel as if his  
answer were crucial? 

"No. They left about fifteen minutes ago, Mrs. Scully was dead on  
her feet." 

Something inside Mulder uncoiled, though the physical signs were  
barely perceptible -- shoulders curving slightly, breathing slowing,  
brow smoothing. Skinner pondered why his words would have had  
such an affect, then recalled his own visit with Scully and her  
family. While Mrs. Scully had been warm and gracious, engaging  
him in easy conversation, Bill remained noticeably aloof. Though  
the man had said nothing aloud, Skinner had felt a distinct sense of  
disapproval emanating from the man when Scully had asked about  
the aftermath of the fiasco at the bureau. Perhaps Bill had not been  
so reticent about expressing his displeasure to Mulder. 

Mulder moved slowly toward the open doorway to Scully's room  
and abruptly Skinner was struck by the man's gaunt appearance.  
The suit hung on his slim frame, indicating too many skipped  
meals and too much stress. 

"I don't want to see your face tomorrow, Mulder. We'll sort things  
out on Monday," he said gruffly, using the growl to hide his  
disquiet. 

Mulder paused and half turned as if to argue, then nodded and  
disappeared into Scully's room. Skinner sighed heavily and started  
back down the hallway toward the elevators. No sense worrying  
about Mulder, he was in good hands now. 

The fluorescent light above Scully's bed still burned but her eyes  
were closed. Mulder moved quietly across the room and sank into  
the chair closest to the bed, unable to tear his eyes from her face.  
So pale, so thin, with dark, bruised shadows beneath the lashes that  
lay so sweetly against her cheeks. Hard to believe this woman was  
the same eager, fresh-faced rookie who had burst into his life and  
turned it upside down four years ago. Bill Scully was right -- his  
damn quest had reduced her to this. A quest now as empty and  
hollow as the pit of his stomach. 

Mulder's eyes burned and he clenched his jaw. *Not here, and not  
now. Scully needs me to be there for her.* 

Scully made a small noise in the back of her throat that sounded  
like a kitten and her eyes drifted open. She turned her head and  
regarded Mulder solemnly, her blue eyes weary but clear. 

"Hey, you," she said softly, finally breaking into a smile. 

"You need your rest, Scully. I should go and let you get some  
sleep." His mouth said the words even as his brain registered the  
fact that his own apartment was probably still a crime scene. 

"What about you?" Scully asked as if she could read his thoughts.  
She stretched her right hand toward him and he leaned forward to  
enfold it in his own. "Have you gotten any sleep at all, Mulder?  
You look like hell." 

"Said the pot," Mulder reminded her, lips curving. "I crashed at the  
Gunmen's place the night before last. My apartment is still sealed  
off." 

"What about last night?" 

To her surprise he looked away uncomfortably, though his thumb  
never ceased its gentle stroking of her hand. 

"Mulder?" 

"I was here last night," he confessed quietly. "You were asleep and  
I didn't want to wake you. I guess I dozed off, because the next  
thing I knew the sun was coming up." 

Scully considered this while scrutinizing his face. Then, as if just  
spoken, she recalled his words that morning. 

*I was lost last night. But as I stood here I thought I'd found my  
way.* 

The memory was like sunlight pouring into a dark room when the  
shade is raised, illuminating everything in one great flood of light.  
Now, she could see all the nuances of his emotional state that his  
physical condition had masked. This was so much more than the  
repercussions of his nearly obsessive drive to find a cure for her  
cancer. Whatever had occurred in her partner's life over the past  
forty-eight hours had changed him profoundly. 

"Why did you come by last night, Mulder?" she asked, her tone the  
gentlest of caresses. "Why did you need to see me?" 

He hesitated only briefly before smiling. "Just checking up on you,  
Scully. Making sure you were still *fine.*" 

Scully raised an eyebrow at that and began to retort when she  
recognized the good-natured dig for what it was -- a smokescreen.  
"You told me you were lost," she pressed, refusing to give any  
ground. "What did you mean? What exactly was this deal that the  
smoking man offered you?" 

Her hand had suddenly become a source of great fascination for  
him. Finally he lifted his eyes to her own. "It doesn't matter,  
Scully. All that matters is that I didn't take it." 

But it did matter. Despite Mulder's dismissal Scully could read the  
pain lurking behind it -- etched into every line and plane in his  
face, communicated in the subtle body language she'd learned to  
interpret so well. Mulder was grieving, and it was a grief deeper  
and blacker than any she'd seen before. That knowledge was both  
simple and profound when it concerned a man who had  
experienced more than his share of heartbreak. 

"You said you almost accepted," she said, turning her wrist so that  
now his hand was cradled in hers, her fingers stroking his palm.  
"Tell me, Mulder." 

So much conflict within him, it was nearly tangible. He wanted to  
tell her, but didn't want to burden her. He craved her comfort yet  
feared the inevitable loss of his precious control. Scully saw all this  
but kept silent, knowing that the slightest misstep would only  
result in the fortification of walls now crumbling. 

He laughed, a soulless chuckle devoid of life as well as humor that  
never touched his eyes -- eyes that had gone nearly black in the  
dim lighting. "He offered me everything, Scully. My heart's desire,  
if I would only quit the FBI and go work for him. The truth about  
extraterrestrial life. The cure for your cancer. My sister..." 

Scully gasped involuntarily, the sound wrenched from her toes.  
"*Samantha?* Mulder, he offered you *Samantha?* How? What  
did he say? Did..." 

Mulder broke the link between their eyes and stared at the wall  
behind her bed, his face empty and blank. "He told me to meet him  
at a diner and he brought her to me. She looked just like...like the  
others." 

Scully struggled to a more upright position, her mind reeling with  
images of a woman on a bridge, plunging over the guardrail into  
icy waters. "Are you certain it was really her, that it wasn't another  
clone?" 

An odd sense of deja vu swept over her and she felt divided, past  
and present colliding. 

*Are you sure that it's your sister?* 

*Why would you even question me on that?* 

Mulder shrugged, still staring vacantly over her left shoulder. "She  
seemed to be. If she was a fake, she was a hell of an actress." 

Scully frowned at the monotone quality of his voice. The ice  
beneath her feet had grown dangerously thin, and she could feel it  
cracking. Feel him cracking. Though her initial impulse was to  
regard this supposed Samantha with skepticism, Mulder's face told  
a different story. 

"What was she doing with *him*, Mulder? Did she explain that?" 

No change in expression, but the hand she clasped trembled and  
his breathing sped up. "She told me he raised her. She calls him her  
father." 

Scully's mouth dropped open, then snapped shut when her  
fumbling brain could come up with no adequate response. She  
knew that Mulder had questioned his own paternity, causing a rift  
between himself and his mother that had yet to be breached. If  
those doubts had extended to Samantha, he'd never vocalized them. 

"Oh, Mulder," she whispered, sliding her hand up his arm and over  
to cup his cheek. 

He blinked, sucking the corner of his lip into his mouth as the  
trembling spread throughout his body and his breath hitched. He  
tried to speak but only shook his head as tears flooded his eyes.  
Scully's thumb caressed his cheek as she waited. 

"She doesn't remember much -- doesn't want to. She believes him,  
believes the lies he's told her. She wouldn't let me take her to see  
Mom and she wouldn't tell me where she lives." Mulder's voice  
broke, taking Scully's heart with it. The tears evaded all efforts to  
deny them and coursed freely down his cheeks and his trembling  
became shudders. 

"I'm sure it was a shock for her," Scully said, her own voice thick  
with emotion. "She may just need time..." 

"I'd like to believe that, Scully. But the fact remains that she's  
willing to trust anything that black-lunged bastard tells her,"  
Mulder choked. "She practically ran from me to *him.* Do you  
know how that made me feel? To have her reject *me* and then  
watch *him* reach over and brush the tears from her cheek?" 

The blank detachment was gone from Mulder's face, though he still  
struggled desperately to regain it. Without even pausing to  
consider her action, Scully tugged on his hand until she'd managed  
to coax him from the chair to sit on the bed. As she had when his  
mother lay near death in a hospital bed, she slipped one small hand  
around the back of his neck and drew his head down onto her  
shoulder. 

"It's okay, let it go," she murmured as the shudders turned to sobs.  
"Let it go, Mulder, I'm here." 

She couldn't have said how long they remained like that, Mulder's  
ragged breaths and her own soothing patter of reassurances the  
only sounds in the stillness. Eventually they wound up stretched  
out side by side on the narrow hospital bed, his head on her right  
shoulder, their hands linked and lying across his chest. 

"I'm so sorry, Mulder," Scully finally said, the words ruffling his  
hair beneath her chin. "Sorrier than I can say." 

"For twenty-five years I've pictured what it would be like to find  
my sister," Mulder mumbled, the words slurred with fatigue. "I  
never pictured it this way, though. Not even close. I've been a fool,  
Scully. Nothing is what I thought it would be. Remember that old  
saying? 'Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.'" 

Scully leaned her cheek against the silky top of his head. "You've  
waited twenty-five years, Mulder. If that's really your sister, you  
can afford to wait a little bit longer." 

"And if it's not?" 

The question was so soft she might have imagined it. 

"Then we keep looking. And we don't stop until we know the  
truth." 

Mulder smiled at the conviction in her voice, squeezing her hand.  
"That's one heart's desire the cigarette smoking man couldn't cheat  
me out of, Scully. Whether he intended to or not he's given you  
back to me -- twice. For that I'm almost grateful to the son of a  
bitch." 

"Let's not get carried away," Scully replied dryly, pleased to feel  
the curve of his smile against her neck. 

"Gotta go and let you...sleep," Mulder said, punctuating the  
statement with a yawn. 

"You can't drive in this condition, you're exhausted," Scully  
pointed out, catching his infectious yawn and repeating it. "Call  
Frohike to pick you up." 

"Mmm 'kay. That's a good idea. In a minute." 

But he didn't move and his breathing became slow and even.  
Though she was tired herself, Scully continued to turn his words  
over in her mind like shiny coins, inspecting them from all angles.  
The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. Mulder's heart's desire  
\-- Samantha, aliens, and herself. She'd have ranked herself third on  
that list until the terrible night on the bridge. Was the chip in her  
neck responsible for her remission? It didn't really matter. Mulder  
had pushed himself beyond the point of exhaustion, nearly  
sacrificing everything for the mere possibility of that cure. And  
whether by faith, medicine, or a microchip, she would now live to  
hunt aliens and government conspiracies another day. With  
Mulder. 

Ironically enough, that had become her heart's desire. 

Scully reached carefully up to turn off the light, plunging the room  
into darkness. Mulder didn't stir, his warmth and weight a  
comforting presence in the sterile surroundings. With a small sigh  
of contentment, Scully closed her eyes and joined him in slumber.  
  



End file.
